


A Face For Radio

by CallunaVulgaris



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallunaVulgaris/pseuds/CallunaVulgaris
Summary: Alastor is not a deer. So much for cute, white fawn ass freckles.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 899





	1. Eagles - Hotel California

Angel loitered idly in the lobby, absent-mindedly licking a popsicle whilst staring at the stained glass windows. It was raining heavily outside and the rivulets meandering down the panes were the most exciting thing going at the moment. This is what he had been reduced to, hanging off one of the grandiose bar stools like a braindead zombie. Husk had deserted the bar to change a beer barrel in the cellar. Husk wasn't a stupid demon, he'd worked out that ignoring Angel was his achilles heel.

No drugs, no partying, no sex, no one to torment... all for the sake of a free room in this Happy Hotel. Angel didn't feel happy. Every inch of him, including his tongue, felt itchy with boredom. Boredom and withdrawl. He felt like he was losing his mind, drooling around a small popsicle as a poor substitute for a good bit of cock.

What was he supposed to be gaining by giving up his vices? A torturous eternity in Hell waiting to be picked off during a purge, with no way to drown out the hopelessness of it all? How did Charlie even know ascending was possible? What evidence did she have?

This was torture! Charlie was probably some sort of sadist. What if this was just Hell's Princesses' first steps in tormenting sinners, and she was following in Lucifer's footsteps?

Nah. She seemed so naively nice.

Or was it a trick?

Nah.

Or was it a double bluff?

Angel was startled from his spiralling thoughts as the main entrance doors cracked open and shattered the silence. The room hummed into life with the sound of static.

"Good day to you Angel, and may I say it looks like you are making the most of it!" Alastor beamed with his mouthful of yellow fangs, tilting his head slightly in Angel's direction. He carried a large red umbrella, which he shook out with a flourish before it vanished into the ether. A stack of papers were tucked into the crook of his other arm.

Angel scowled but mumbled a greeting.

Alastor laughed "Full of the joys of the afterlife today I see?".

Angel huffed "Yeah, more like bored out of my fucking mind!"

"You need to find some way of entertaining yourself."

"No drugs, no unsupervised trips out of the hotel, how am I supposed to 'entertain myself? Husker is ignoring me so I can't even drink myself happy!"

The neglected popsicle chose this moment to make it's first foray into amateur dramatics, finally melting off the stick. It landed on the floor with a dull splat and plenty of comedic timing.

Alastor's crocodile smile broadened and faint canned laughter buzzed through the ambient static.

"It's not funny." Angel grumbled, sagging his shoulders further.

"Oh Angel my dear, you are down in the dumps today aren't you?" The red demon used his free arm to gather Angel close to him in a one-armed hug, as though he was letting him in on a dark little secret. Those prominent fangs flashed behind his grey lips. "What if I told you I've got some copies of local tax legislation under my arm?"

Angel squinted sideways at Alastor, undaunted by his dark, predatory gaze "I'd say it's no wonder you've got no interest in sex if that's the kind of reading you take to bed."

The Radio Demon recoiled slightly, but continued "Well, a little bird tells me that if we were to register this hotel as a subsidiary of an umbrella company with an office in a different circle of Hell, then Charlie could evade thousands of dollars in tax every year."

"That's cool and all Al, but I just don't get excited about that kind of thing. All this paperwork and office type stuff, I know it's important but it's just boring to me."

"Do you know who sets and collects business taxes in this area?"

"No." Angel huffed, getting annoyed as well as bored.

"Vox, and I'll be very entertained when he finds out that he's not entitled to a single cent out of this place. Hell isn't just full of brute-force turf wars, it's also a beaurocratic nightmare! Overlords twist the knife in each other at every opportunity, without ever drawing a blade. " Alastor's grin was particularly dark and savage as he patted the wad of documents he carried. "However, the devil as they say, is in the detail."

A wry smile crept across the spider's lips. Alastor had said 'Vox' as if the name was poison to his lips, and Angel disliked the box-headed, screen-faced creep too for his own reasons. "Yeah but Vox wouldn't mess with Charlie, he might be an asshole but he's not stupid. He'd give her a discount just to suck up to Lucifer."

"Whereas this way, he gets less than nothing. I'll head him off at the pass, so to speak. He gets to know that I was one step ahead of him. He will know that I did this, it will make him seeth with rage and there will be nothing he can do about it."

Angel chuckled at the red demon's cunning smile and how the air had thickened further with white noise. "I get the feeling that there's a bit of beef between you two, you hate him nearly as much as I do."

"But of course, Overlords tend to have plenty of enemies, and their friends are usually enemies in disguise, waiting for an opportunity."

"Aww Smiles, is it lonely at the top of the food chain?"

"Angel my dear, you don't know the half of it." Alastor bowed as a theatrical flourish and lifted the papers again. "However, I still need to comb through this small stack of light reading to set this little trap of mine. I don't suppose you'd like to assist?"

Angel's mood had improved considerably, so he didn't think twice as he stretched out his long legs, cocked a mock-suggestive eyebrow and smiled a genuinely happy smile. "Oh Alastor, I'd assist you any day of the week. Or night."

Al froze, his gaze flicking nervously to the spider's outstretched legs. He recovered with a laugh but it was strained. "You are such a character Angel, but I'm not planning on making a late night out of this so I suppose I should go and get cracking!"

The Porn Star watched the Radio Demon beat a hasty retreat up the main staircase flight, the deer-slot prints on the soles of his shoes flashing red like louboutin heels. Angel had been joking, just harmlessly flirting thanks to the cheery mood that Alastor had coaxed out of him. He hadn't meant to upset the guy.

Angel sighed and turned back to the rain-soaked stained glass windows. Now that the buzz of radio interference had gone, he could hear the lashing rain again. He had been enjoying Alastor's company, he was being playful. He really hadn't meant to upset him! Though, Alastor didn't act disgusted. Angel knew what that reaction looked like. No... Alastor looked more... disturbed? Frightened? Nervous?

The spider bit his bottom lip. Nervous? Now that was a tasty thought. Imagining the delicious Strawberry Pimp being all coy and shy about sex was giving Angel some fantastic mental images. Was he into some seriously kinky shit but insecure about it, or had he never really delved deep into what got him off? Angel preffered the second scenario. Maybe Smiles just needed someone to show him what he liked?

Angel found himself wondering what that red pinstripe suit was hiding. Alastor's skin was an ashen grey and his body looked very human in shape, but he might be hiding a little deer's tail to go with those antlers. Did he have a thatch of hair on his chest, running down his belly to his cock? Did the carpet match the drapes? Red or black?

He giggled to himself. Or did the famously ferocious Radio Demon have cute little white freckles on his ass like a fawn?

Angel's eyes abandoned the rain-slicked windows, returning to the grand main staircase.

He licked his lips.

He was going to have to find out.

\-------------------------------------------

It was much later in the evening when Angel found himself in front of Alastor's office, carrying coffee for both of them. He'd stayed at the bar until Husk got back and had a few cocktails before this seemed like a good idea.

A cup in each hand but with two still spare to knock the door, Angel loved the perks of his demon body. He sniggered to himself. "Hey Al, I brought you a coffee."

"Oh thank you Angel, please do come in, the door isn't locked."

Angel found the red demon sat at the big desk in the centre of his office. It was dimly lit by a green banker's lamp and Alastor was wearing a green eyeshade, a different shirt and his monocle had been swapped for small, circular-rimmed, red glasses perched on his nose. He looked like a stereotypical old-timey accountant from an old picture show. Alastor had dressed up to do his paperwork.

"Here you go Al, one cup of Mississippi mud for you, just the way you like it." The first time Angel had asked Alastor how he took his coffee, he could feel his Italian roots shriveling at the sight of the chicory-diluted, black, sugarless mess that Al apparently liked. It looked like something you'd fish out of a swamp.

The red demon took the offered cup eagerly, with both hands. "Thank you Angel, you are too kind!"

"Yeah, it'll be the death of me!" The spider grinned back, flashing his gold tooth. "So, how's those devilish details going?"

Angel sat in the other chair at the front of the desk and sipped his own, proper, Italian coffee whilst Alastor explained his plan. The spider tried to listen politely, but it just sounded like a mess of obscure technicalities and misleading wording. Apparently leaving a comma out somewhere left a loophole that was probably put in there on purpose for someone else to make use of on the sly.

"It's just a matter of experience and reading the signs. If you stalk enough deer, you start to know where they will walk before you find any tracks. We are all creatures of habit underneath." Alastor lounged back in his seat, looking tired but content. He cast the green visor onto the desk, nursing his coffee.

Angel got up and sauntered around to the back of Alastor's chair. The Radio Demon was usually sharp smiles and impeccable posture. This was the most relaxed he'd ever seen him. This was his chance to start things in motion.

"So Al, where's this suspiciously missing comma?" The spider leaned on the back of Alastor's chair, looking over his shoulder.

As Alastor got into full swing of explaining why he thought this missing comma was significant, Angel reached out with two hands and threaded his fingertips through that perky red hair, straight onto the Radio Demon's scalp.

Instantly there was a hiss of static and Alastor froze, but Angel forged ahead, taking charge of the situation. "Relax Al, you look exhausted. You've worked hard on this." The spider laced his fingers into that hair, massaging circles through it. "Just relax and enjoy your coffee."

Angel kept up his ministrations, feeling the red demon's defensive tension start to trickle away. Slowly, incrementally, Alastor sagged back into the chair, accepting the massage. It wasn't quick or easy. It was like trying to stroke a savage alleycat, but eventually, Angel saw him lift the coffee cup back to his lips. Alastor was giving into it!

Despite what people said, Angel was not a 'dumb slut'. It took a lot to learn to work a pole and to give a good massage. Though being a spider came with benefits in this field. As his upper pair of hands continued their fingertip dance through Alastor's hair, his lower set came up to start delicately kneading the back of the Radio Demon's neck. 

The static increased, thickening in the air until it vibrated, like the room was purring arythmically. The shadows darkened and black tentacles writhed out from the blackness, twisting against the floor and walls like snakes on the brink of ecstacy. Red runes started to flicker like fireflies. The office was coming alive, like it was an extension of Alastor's being. 

Angel bit his lower lip, impressed with his own progress, because as his thumbs rubbed at that ashen skin, Alastor started to lean into it. He tentatively brushed those little antlers and was rewarded with a crackling buzz, like he'd touched the dail on an oversensitive, tempremental old analogue radio. So he did it again.

The antlers started to grow in his hands like lightening in slow motion, each branch splitting and forking with a sound like crunching bone. The scrambled white noise was building to a roar.

Talk about getting horny! These antlers were getting huge!

Angel tried to continue but everything collapsed into blackness and his hands were suddenly empty. The room was silent except for slow, heavy breathing. He could feel the coils of the tentacles around him, not restraining him, but leaving him with nowhere to go. He didn't feel frightened. He'd seen some freaky shit from horny demonic Johns in his time. 

They came in all shapes and sizes.

Red eyes lit up the dark. Where Alastor had been, a hulking beast stood in his place, hunched down to bring it's skull down to Angel's level. It was just a skull, grey bone with no flesh, the eyes glowing like hot coals in the dark sockets. It was like a wolf's skull, with big yellow fangs and no lips to hide them. It sniffed at Angel with long, deep, earthy breaths that smelled like being buried alive before it opened it's jaws. There was a long, fleshy tongue in there like a thick strip of raw liver, smooth and wet.

It lowered it's jaws down over Angel until he was stood with his head and upper body inside the cavern of this thing's mouth. For something with a skull for a face, the inside of it's mouth was very soft, warm and wet. The tongue was licking him, which wasn't so bad as it was so long that it reached from his face to his thighs like some sort of full-body jelly sex toy.

It was when the jaws started tightening, delicately starting to chew at him, that Angel realised that this was Alastor the cannibal, after all. This wasn't probably just going to be a harmless tooth-hug for long.

"Hey Al, I didn't think we'd get to deep-throating on the first date."

The beast froze for a split second before lifting it's jaws off him. In the blink of an eye they were both stood in that fully lit office like nothing had happened. Except that Angel was covered in so much spit it was like he'd had an accident with a bucket of lubricant, and Alastor was bracing himself against the back of the chair, panting.

Alastor looked startled, like a deer in headlights.

"You're not a deer, are you?" Angel asked. So much for cute fawn ass freckles!

Alastor shook his head quickly. He looked horrified.

"Were you really going to eat me?"

"I'm so sorry Angel, I've not been hunting yet this week."

"Look, it's no problem, really. I'll go and have a shower and I'll be fine. I'm sorry I provoked you."

Alastor didn't move or say anything.

Angel went to leave but stopped in the doorway. "Oh Alastor? By the way, nice rack!" he tapped the top of his own head to let the Radio Demon know he meant his antlers, before firing him some finger guns and a wink.


	2. Caravan Palace - Lone Digger

Angel wasn't bored anymore. Not since Alastor licked him up and down like a juicy ham, with jaws big enough to swallow a smaller demon whole. No, Angel was positively intrigued! Alastor played the part of some dapper, well-dressed gentleman, above the trifles and vices of lesser demons, but then let that massive monster slip out. Talk about skeletons in your closet!

Angel was keeping himself busy, currently giving Niffty a hand in the kitchen by doing some dishes. His extra hands made quick work of scrubbing the catering-sized pots and pans, and he'd always been raised to help out with this sort of thing. If someone else was cooking for you and you weren't paying them with money, you paid them back in other ways. You either laid or cleared the table, did the dishes or tidied the kitchen. It felt wrong to him to be fed and then abandon the scene.

Angel worked at some burnt-on residue at the bottom of a pan whilst his mind wandered. A lot of demons hid their extra limbs, horns or teeth. He hid one of his own pairs of arms most of the time, just to keep them out of the way when they weren't needed. Most Overlords were smug bastards about their 'true power' and could turn into bigger, meaner versions of themselves for dramatic effect. Usually with cheesey lines like 'you don't want to see me when I'm angry'. Like it impressed anyone anymore after the sixth or seventh time. Valentino was a shit for it. So was Vox, who's favourite party trick was to wrap you up in coils of writhing cables and threaten to extract what you'd seen from your mind if you didn't tell him what he wanted to know. It wasn't a secret.

So why was Alastor hiding it? Why had Alastor been so horrified that he'd nearly eaten him? Angel expected him to gloat, to boast about how he could have had him for supper or as a snack to go with the coffee. To threaten him not to touch him again. Or if he was going to massage his scalp, he should be ready to massage the rest of him and give him a happy ending.

Not fucking apologise for it! What the hell was up with that? What kind of Overlord looked so genuinely frightened of themselves?

"Hey Niffty? What has red eyes, antlers, a skull for a face and will eat you alive?"

"Oooh, I don't know Angel. Is it a joke? I mean it could be Rudolph as a zombie, or halfway inside out, is it a Christmas joke?"

"No, it was just a question. I have no idea."

"You did it wrong, it's 'what do you call a deer with no eyes? No eye deer!"

Angel huffed out a laugh. "Well what does a nosey pepper do? It gets jalapeno business!"

Niffty giggled daintily as she stirred a large, simmering pot of stock on the range. She had to stand on a small set of steps to reach. "Hey Angel, do you know how to make holy water?"

Angel had been raised Catholic, but he played along. "No, how do you make holy water?"

Niffty spun the dials on the range to the max, fire roaring up the sides of the pots, as she cackled manically. "YOU BOIL THE HELL OUT OF IT!"

Angel laughed like he hadn't in weeks. Honest, happy laughter that wasn't caused by anyone else's misfortune. Niffty was laughing too as she turned the range back down to sensible levels of heat.

Husk popped his head through the serving hatch. "What's the difference between a well-dressed man on a unicycle and a poorly-dressed man on a bicycle? Hey, where's Alastor? I heard bad jokes and he's not even in here?"

"No Husker, it's just me and Mr. Dust in here. He got the 'no eye deer' joke wrong!"

Husk arched one of his over-long eyebrows. "One; since when have you been Mister Dust? Two; how do you even get that joke wrong? It's less than ten words long!"

Angel rolled his eyes. "No. I have no idea what has red eyes, antlers, a skull for a face and will eat you alive."

Husk just scowled at Angel suspiciously, like he knew more than he was letting on. "That's not really a joke."

"Well what about your joke? What is the difference between a well-dressed guy on a unicycle and a poorly-dressed guy on a bicycle?" Angel shot back.

"Attire."

"That's not very funny."

"Yeah, well, you ruined my delivery. I'm going back to the bar, I was looking for Al and he's not here, so, screw yourselves for all I care." Husk dissapeared from the serving hatch and Angel and Niffty started giggling like schoolgirls.

Angel hadn't seen Alastor since seeing his darker side the night before. It sounded like nobody else had seen him either. It also sounded like Husk knew exactly what had a skull for a face and would eat you alive. Angel decided that he'd need to spend more time at the bar.

\--------------------------------------------------- 

Alastor picked his way lightly through the trees, slotting his feet between tree roots and tussocks, expertly finding a solid route. The Marsh of Anger bore little resemblance to the Louisiana bayou of his youth, but it was the closest he could get within the limits of Hell. It felt similar enough to be comforting, even though it stank like a fetid corpse and daylight barely pierced the swirling mists. He would have loved to see golden sunlight lilting through opulent, trailing curtains of spanish moss, mirrored in the water below, whilst the birds, bugs and gators sang their songs. Monet would have painted it if he'd seen it.

There was nothing beautiful here. But still he came, drawn to its vague familiarity, especially when he needed to clear his mind.

Satisfied that he was alone and unfollowed, he leant his back against a naked, gnarled tree and tried to relax. The fog thickened and lowered as the moon rose, hugging the ground in a thick shroud. He watched the bloody sphere climb between the branches.

He felt concerned about what had happened with Angel. It made him nervous that he'd lost his own grip on himself so easily. It had taken so little for the beast to slip out of it's chains! He blamed hunger. He had always meted out the bloodlust in measured doses, keeping the whole affair under control in an almost scripted manner. He would conduct a broadcast, stick to a schedule, feed the beast. He would orchestrate the hunt, bring the quarry home to the Radio Tower, butcher it, cook it and eat it in a gentlemanly fashion.

He held the reins. He wasn't about to let those base instincts run the show. It was undignified. He loved the power it bestowed upon him, but what was power without control?

If he was going to cut back on his radio programmes to spend time on his Hazbin Hotel entertainment project, he would need an outlet. He had been too hungry when Angel coaxed him into relaxing. If he was going to spend so much time around demons who were not to be on the menu, he needed to be less hungry. He planned to satiate the beast before returning to the hotel. This was about quantity over quality, speed over workmanship. This was about slaking a biological need. He would give the beast what it wanted and let it do what it needed to do, in the same way as a dog owner would take his pooch out for a walk in the park.

He was going to let the beast off the leash for a few hours, to have it's fill. Though he was loathe to do it, it was so uncouth!

He closed his eyes and begrudgingly let go, feeling his horns arch and rise as his bones stretched and lengthened. Fur erupted from his flesh and his lips peeled back from his teeth. He dropped his clawed hands into the mud and raised his skull, sniffing the cool, damp air in search of prey, filling his cavernous lungs. He let out a long, haunting wail that echoed across the marshes like the shrill call of a bull elk. Tossing his head, he revelled in the weight of his grand crown of antlers and the thick muscles of his neck and shoulders.

He felt every inch the beast he looked, horrified and enthralled in equal measure. He prowled out accross the moors on all fours, eating his first victim of the night raw, warm and still twitching.


	3. Florence + The Machine - Hunger

Angel waited for an opportune moment to hit up the bar. He was looking for circumstances that would leave him alone with Husk for long enough that the cat demon would be drunk enough to spill something. No amount of loitering had helped. So far, there had always been someone or something conspiring to keep Husk busy or absent, or Charlie or Vaggie were in the room too. He needed to catch the cat alone.

It was extremely late at night when Angel slinked into the lobby, ready to claim that he couldn't sleep and needed a nightcap. He was wearing his favourite black silk and lace slip with an outrageously pink and fluffy robe to emphasise his story. It also emphasised the deep fluff on his chest beautifully. Virtually everything looked better framed in black lace, and this robe constantly slipped off his shoulder. It was a saucy ensemble, but this was about as tame as his wardrobe went.

He was too late for the bar. The lights were off and Husk was long gone, but the fire in the hearth was still flickering. Long shadows danced on the walls. Angel ventured in, ready to tamp the embers down and put the fire guard in place if nobody else had.

"Well dear Angel, what brings you to haunt the halls this witching hour?" 

Alastor was back! He was set deep into the couch by the fire, casually turning a small, cut-glass goblet by it's stem in the dim glow. His burning eyes were half-lidded, his smile was tempered and Angel could have sworn he heard the edge of an accent creeping into the red demon's voice. He seemed slower and more deliberate.He looked completely at ease, like a predator at rest. Deeply powerful. Hot as fuck.

"I couldn't sleep, I came to see if I could scrounge a nightcap off Husk." Angel smiled confidently and sashayed over, sitting on the other couch directly facing Alastor. He realised that he could smell blood now that he was closer. Fresh blood. Lots of it. The Radio Demon had been hunting.

Alastor leant forwards, offering a second glass that had appeared as if out of thin air.

"Ah, no thanks Al, I've never been one for blood. I never got the taste for it. Well, not in a glass anyway."

Alastor paused. "It's not blood. It's Courvosier."

"Oh! Well, that'll do the trick." It wasn't Angel's drink of choice, but he wasn't about to be picky. He saliciously leant forwards and accepted the glass, holding Alastor's gaze and knowing full well how his fluffy bust looked at this angle. He'd done this pose a thousand times. He was a professional. Smile for the camera.

The red demon caved and looked away to the crackling fire. Even in his post-hunt state, Alastor couldn't tolerate the sexual tension. Though this time he seemed far less distressed, in Angel's opinion. Though wether the Radio Demon's reactions were dulled by being blood-drunk or it was lewd language that disturbed him more, the spider wasn't sure. Angel certainly had more of his body on show now in his negligee and robe. That time he'd jokingly offered to suck his dick, he'd been fully clothed and Alastor had been derailed in an instant. Curioser and curioser!

"I wanted to apologise for my behaviour the other night." Alastor broke the silence.

"It's no problem Al, honest. I've seen way worse and you didn't even bite hard enough to make me bleed."

"You came very close to being eaten."

"Nah. If you'd really wanted to eat me, you'd have done it in a heartbeat. Though, I can't blame you for being tempted." Angel was horny as hell, but he reigned himself in. He wanted to make raunchy jokes, flirt and suck this Overlord's cock in front of the fire. He wasn't getting the kind of attention he needed, being cooped up in this hotel, but he didn't know what magic words he would have to say to make Alastor fuck him on the rug. He'd be good to him. He'd give it him for free.

Alastor's only response was to tap his claws on his glass of cognac thoughtfully.

"Come on Smiles, we're in hell. I've had venomous bites. I've had a tooth knocked out. I've had broken ribs. I've been bloodied and bruised. You showed me your teeth and gave me a lick! That's a pretty good day at work when you're on the game."

The red demon winced slightly. "Then why do you do it?"

"Because the worse ones pay more. Because we can't all be powerful Overlords. I'd have an even worse time of it if I tried to go it alone. Having a contract with Valentino gives me some protection from the rest of Hell. I have to work with what Hell gave me." Angel struck a sarcastically sexy pose and gestured to himself.

The pair of them sipped their drinks.

"You're hiding from Valentino here."Alastor observed. It wasn't an accusation.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Angel sighed. "Y'know, I spent my life mostly in the closet. No Mafia man wants anyone to know that his son likes men and dressing in women's clothes. It's not good for business. Ruins the Family's reputation and all that. Once I was down here, I thought I could go the whole nine yards and nobody would care, and I was right, but not in the way I thought. It's too much! Everybody knows what I've got and if they want a piece, all they have to do is give Val a call. He's an asshole, he's only interested in money and I'm sick of his shit. It's funny how Hell can take something you wanted and turn it into your own personal nightmare."

They sat holding each other's gaze and it felt like something changed, like Alastor was seeing him in a new light. It was oddly tender, as if they'd found some common ground and were making a personal connection. 

"We all have a hunger."

"Yeah and down here it comes around to bite you in the ass." Angel lifted his nearly empty glass in a contemptuous toast.

Alastor smiled and joined him in his little salute to the shitter side of the afterlife, before conjouring a fresh bottle of liqour. He leant forwards, offering to top up the spider's now empty glass. To Hell with it!

"So, you were a Mafioso man in life then?" Alastor asked as he let the amber liquid flow.

"Yep. A made man. I killed a fair few guys from a rival family, part of the business. I was a pretty good shot and quick-on-the-draw. Not that it was ever enough to impress my Old Man."

"I was a hunting man myself, but strictly for pleasure you see. It was always a solitary affair. I had a Winchester that was an absolute peach."

"A rifle man? I bet you were good, you've got the patience to sit and wait for the shot. I was a bit spoiled. I had a whole bunch of stuff that was mine and more in the family armoury."

"Tommy guns?"

Angel laughed and opened his robe, both of his lower pairs of arms bringing out four Tommy guns with drum magazines and a flourish. "I don't go anywhere without my Chicago Typewriters baby, never know when you might need to send some Joe a message he won't forget."

The red demon didn't recoil, didn't even seem to notice that Angel had exposed so much barely-covered fluffy flesh and lace. He just smiled excitedly and reached out for one of the guns.

The spider noticed. He handed one over and retracted the others.

"You know, I'd always wanted to try one of these!" Alastor exclaimed, turning it over in his arms, examining the stock and shifting his hands on both grips. "Fully automatic?"

"Pfft. Of course."

Alastor handed the weapon back before summoning his own with a snap of his fingers. He seemed almost sheepish as he offered his antiquated rifle out for Angel to inspect. "She might be considered old hat, but this old girl saw me through thick and thin."

Angel dropped to one knee and levelled the rifle, looking down the length of the lobby through the iron sights. "Yeah, but she'd still get the job done. Y'know, if you have the patience of a Saint."

The Radio Demon laughed. "I killed far too many people for canonization to be on the cards."

"Oh yeah? You were a killer in life?"

Alastor was hesitant, as if it should have been obvious. "Yes. I was a cannibal in life too. I was a serial killer. I ate what I killed."

"What sort of numbers are we talking here?" Angel handed the rifle back and returned to his seat on the couch.

"I wasn't counting."

"Well what did the papers say?"

Alastor shrugged. "How many chickens did you eat in your lifetime? I think the papers reported fifty four, but it was probably closer to two hundred. The bayou can hide a lot of bones."

"The bayou? I thought I heard a bit of an accent earlier." Angel couldn't believe how much Alastor was spilling. Killing and drinking by the fire had loosened him right up, and the spider was going to keep the wheels of this train rolling as long as possible.

Alastor chuckled and leant forwards like he was sharing a secret. His voice dropped into something deeper and richer, the words and syllables bleeding together. "Me? Imma swamp boy born an' raised. Dese veins a more mud den blood, cher!"

Angel could only stare, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Holy shit. It was like he had a dark, exotic streak running under the surface. This guy just got hotter and hotter!

"But, like they say, regional dialects limit your career on the airwaves. I worked hard at adopting a generic accent that the masses find easier to understand."

"I understood you just fine."

Alastor's crocodile smile broadened and he came out with something that sounded a bit like French and a lot like a question. To Angel it seemed carelessly flirtacious, as if the motherfucker was toying with him.

"You got me there Al, I have no idea what you just said, but if you weren't asking me to suck your dick after chatting and drinking by this nice open fire, I'm going to be very dissapointed."

That wiped the Cheshire grin off the red demon's face instantly and replaced it with a look of shock.

"Touche, mon ami?" Angel offered, as virtually the only bit of French he knew, and he butchered the accent.

Alastor settled down and smiled back wryly. "Touche indeed."

Angel offered out his glass for a refil, to distract Alastor and trap him for a bit longer. He took the bait.

"So Louisiana then? New Orleans?"

"Thereabouts, yes."

"With all the cabaret and burlesque?"

Alastor sighed. "And the jazz! It was a great time to be alive, the music, the dancing, the food! Unfortunately, people couldn't help themselves but lower the tone."

"But it looked like so much fun! All the beautiful clothes and accessories, getting it all out on stage and making a song and dance of it, instead of shutting it away behind closed doors. Turning it into a real performance for all the girls to do together."

"I just don't understand why it had to be so overtly... sexual."

"It always was. It always has been. Just before then it was all done behind closed doors. Out of sight, out of mind. At least with stage performances like that it's all pretty tame and harmless."

"But the whooping and hollering! The audiences used to bay like a pack of dogs after a fox! "

"Sticks and stones will break your bones, but no amount of whoopin' an' hollerin' is going to do the dancers any harm at all."

Alastor sipped his cognac throughtfully.

"So you weren't entertained? Not even semi-entertained?" Angel prodded, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

"No. I think the appeal was lost on me. Though I did once see a woman perform an elaborate strip-tease from the back of a carousel-style rocking horse. She managed to keep the horse in time to the music and disrobe without falling off. It was very impressive, the routine looked like it would have taken a lot of practice to get right."

Angel couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. "That has got to be the most upmarket donkey show I've ever heard of! Oh Al, they really broke the mould when they made you!"

The red demon was still smiling but he looked embarrased, shrugging his shoulders and downing the rest of his glass. "I can only say that's probably for the best."

"Aww, don't talk yourself down Smiles, I think you're a very interesting guy. I could listen to that Louisiana lilt of yours for hours."

"Is dat so? Well cher, hows 'bout you come see me up dese stairs." With a wave of his hand and a clench of his fist, the glasses and bottle vanished and the fire was smothered out cold. He stood and offered out a clawed hand, taking Angel's and setting in the crook of his arm.

Angel allowed himself to be led, the Radio Demon's bright red eyes glowing in the dark. "Your voice sounds deeper when you speak like this. It's enough to make a guy weak at the knees."

"Deeper doan pick up so good on the ol' micraphones. Comes out all mixed-up on d'otha end. Say, you fancy commin' out for dinner t'morrow? By way a sayin' sorry? My treat, gis you some differen' walls to look at."

"Are you asking me out on a fancy date?" The spider mock-swooned.

Alastor shrugged. "Sure cher. Doan need to be fancy though, if you doan fancy fancy."

"Oh I'd love to, but..."

"An doan worry 'bout Val. If he's couyon enough to come botherin' us, it'd be reason enough for showin' him the floor."

"Then sure, I'd love to. Where are we going?"

"Golden Fiddle?"

"That's a cabaret club. It's also fucking expensive."

"Yeah. Speakin' earlier got me to thinkin'. An' it's been a while."

They'd arrived at Angel's door. Him being the flagship patron of Hell's Princesses' passion project, he had the penthouse suite. The doors were double and the archway was grandiose.

"Say, d'you dance, cher?"

Angel faced him. "This isn't your round-about way of asking for a private lap dance in my room, is it?"

The glowing red eyes shifted uncomfortably. "No."

"And there's nothing I can say that would lure you in, is there? Or money, because I'd fucking pay for it at this point."

"Doan think you'd get your money's worth, me."

"Well Mister cute-as-fuck Southern country-boy..." Angel slowly reached out and calmly adjusted the red demon's bow tie "...you Sir, are one hell of a tease. Go and get some sleep."

Alastor's grin was so broad it lit up his eyes even brighter. "Fais de beaux reves, Angel."

The Radio Demon melted into the shadows and vanished without a trace, leaving Angel stood in the corridor as if he'd imagined the whole thing. The spider let himself into his room, closed the doors and sagged back against them, letting out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding in.

That accent! That was solid-gold wank bank material. He rummaged through his bedside drawers looking for his favourite toys whilst he could still taste the Courvoisier.


End file.
